


Phases

by North_of_Kyrimorut



Series: Foxiyo Week 2020 [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: CC-1010 | Fox Needs A Hug, Clone Trooper Culture (Star Wars), Developing Friendships, F/M, Foxiyo Week 2020, Injury, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Pantoran World Building (Star Wars), Pre-Relationship, Religious Discussion, but maybe a little different than usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28364478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/North_of_Kyrimorut/pseuds/North_of_Kyrimorut
Summary: Riyo drags Fox along for a Pantoran observance and nothing goes according to plan.In which Riyo has a crisis of faith and Fox has an identity crisis. Sort of. There's just a lot of discussion of both.Foxiyo Week 2020 –  Trust: safety, faith, protection
Relationships: Riyo Chuchi/CC-1010 | Fox
Series: Foxiyo Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077149
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	Phases

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a mess. I wanted to write a short screwball comedy in which Fox was carted around during a joyous Pantoran festival. Instead, here’s a disjointed meditation on duty and identity with an absurd amount of non-canonical worldbuilding exposition. There is a bit of casual mild prejudice (of many varieties) that crops up in this story, and it’s not really directly addressed. It’s just a slice of life for Riyo and/or Fox. Also, there is absolutely over-the-top use of Mando’a in this fic—but I swear, there is an actual, (hopefully) solid Fox-specific reason for it. If you’re not a fan… well, Fox is kinda there with you.

“I’m not saying that I won’t do it. I will.” Riyo was sitting in the parlor of the Papanoidas’ townhouse. There was a wall of windows across from her, polarized to give the residents their privacy while still allowing for a magnificent panorama of the higehst skylanes. They were quite a few levels above Riyo’s own official residence, and everything in the townhome seemed designed to remind visitors that Papanoida was a Very High Clan Indeed. “But I need more information—help, even. I don’t want to get this wrong.”

“What is there to get wrong?” Chi Eekway had such a pleasant face, and a steady, calm way about her. Usually, Riyo found it comforting. _Usually._ “It’s just the Four Tenants. _Home—health—history—_ ”

“I know the Tenants,” Riyo interrupted. She helped herself to more tea from the red and silver enameled pot, more to remind herself to relax than anything. This was not _supposed_ to be an official visit. She simply meant to stop by the wish Chi Eekway a safe journey on her visit back to Pantora. It had gotten out of hand. “But I feel like I should remind you that I’m from the Southern continent. We don’t observe the Rite of the Phases.”

“Oh, _heretic.”_ Her tone was light and teasing, but Riyo shot her an unamused look.

“I know you don’t mean it,” she said, “but you can’t _say_ it, either. Not if you want to have my job one of these days.”

Chi Eekway made a very formal motion of apology with her right hand. That was _also_ something they didn’t do in the South, but Riyo understood and knew her young friend was sincere. “I know. I know. But you _can_ observe it, and since both Che Amanwe and I must return home for the week, you will be the highest ranking clanswoman on Coruscant.”

“Don’t remind me,” Riyo said. She may have been the highest ranking Pantoran woman on Coruscant as far as the Senate was concerned, but there had always been an assortment of Cho clanswomen, or the Papanoida girls, or even the Dowager of Merki to fill that cultural role for the local expats. “Ion needs to get married and produce a couple of new Papanoida sprigs so this doesn’t happen again.”

“Goddess willing,” Chi Eekway laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll give you the schedule my sister and I were going to use. Everything is arranged. It’ll be easy. Oh, and—” Chi Eekway snapped her fingers and suddenly looked a lot more like a politician than the devotee of the Goddess she really was— “ _great_ holo ops.”

“Goddess help me,” Riyo said, and meant it.

* * *

“You need to take a break,” Thire said. He was walking alongside Fox, and to any outside observer, it simply looked like the highest ranking clone officer on Coruscant and his second-in-command were making the rounds with professional precision. The Senate District was on lockdown—simply a drill, but it served the dual purpose of allowing the Infrastructure Department to attend to some maintenance. It made sense for the commanders to take some time ‘outside,’ and allay the worries of any concerned citizens. In reality, few citizens were concerned and Fox was enduring harassment from his younger brother.

“I’ll get right on that,” Fox replied. “I’ll send in a request for a week’s leave as soon as I get back to my office. _Oh, wait._ ”

Thire’s exasperated sigh came over their private helmet line loud and clear. “A lot of the Jedi are getting their men R&R. Even if it’s just a couple days between ops.”

“Great. Who’s our Jedi general again?”

Fox hadn’t thought it possible, but Thire’s sigh became even more put out. “You see—this. This is why you need a break, so you can stop being a _kih’kovidla, gedin’la bev’ika_.”

“Seriously?” Fox turned briefly in Thire’s direction, just to punctuate his displeasure.

“ _Gar shu’shuk,_ ” Thire confirmed.

“That is far more Mandalorian than I want to put up with at 0900.”

“Look, I’m not saying jet off for a week at an Alderaanian spa,” Thire continued without letup, “I’m saying, the Senate is in recess. The Chancellor is living it up on Naboo. So keep your comlink open if you must, but go read a holonovel. Get a neckrose freeze. Take a _nap._ ”

The enhanced audio in Fox’s bucket picked up heightened voices close by. “Sorry, duty calls,” he said.

Thire stayed with him, grumbling all the while. “Yeah, and there are _troopers_ there to deal with it. Privates, you know. Meat-cans so we officers can sleep occasionally.”

Fox filed the whole conversation away for a later date. Thire always became derogatory when he discussed topics that were very important to him—or was it self-deprecation, if the insults were directed at your fellow clones? They drew closer to one of the temporary checkpoints set up near the transport hub.

“Senator, you _can’t_ leave the District.”

“I _have_ to, Short-Walk!” Riyo Chuchi’s voice caught Fox’s attention. He had not immediately recognized her upon approach. Her clothes were usually simple by Senatorial standards, but today she was almost enveloped by a dark robe with a high hood. Her clan tattoos were supplemented by thick lines of black and gold cosmetics.

“Problem, trooper?” Fox asked, and both Short-Walk _and_ Riyo looked relieved to see him.

“Sir,” the trooper said. “I was just informing Senator Chuchi that the District will be in lockdown for the rest of the day.” He sounded a little despondent, and Fox could understand why. The Guard had their favorite members of the Senate and public, and Riyo Chuchi ranked quite high on that list. She was courteous and polite, made very few demands, and seldom involved herself in escapades that resulted in clone casualties. If it had been within the trooper’s authority, he likely would have gone along with whatever she wanted.

“And I was informing Private Short-Walk that I am _obligated_ to leave the District,” Riyo said. “And I know this is a drill.”

“It is a drill,” Fox replied slowly, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t important to obey the correct procedures. We are simulating a level two lockdown, which means you cannot leave the District.” He paused before adding, “I can’t recall ever needing to ask twice for _your_ compliance.”

Riyo looked momentarily crestfallen. “I know. I don’t mean to be difficult. But I have to leave the District, and furthermore, I _can._ This is Article Eighteen- protected activity, Subsection Grek and Herf. And Trill, now that I think about it.”

Fox didn’t need to pull up a copy of the Galactic Constitution to know she was referencing the protections on religious observances, and her unusual apparel did suggest something outside of her daily routine. It was a sensitive issue to navigate, with tens of thousands of faiths practiced on Coruscant and an equal number of secular creeds and institutions to be mindful of.

Short-Walk had clearly been thinking about the issue for quite some time. He sounded a little nervous over the helmet comm. “Sir. Level two does allow for civilians and civil servants to leave with an escort. I just wasn’t sure if that applied in this situation?...”

It was as good an idea as any, and Fox relayed it to Thire. “Check if there’s anyone who can be spared,” he said before turning off the private comm to speak with Riyo again. “Do you have an itinerary, Senator?”

“And a list of what I’m transporting,” she added, indicating the small hand-drawn repulsorlift container behind her. She handed over a datapad. Fox appreciated a neatly laid out schedule, and Riyo’s broke down the where, what, and whys of her day in mouthwateringly precise detail.

“Your heart just skipped a beat, vod,” Thire chuckled. When Fox did not dignify that comment with a reply, he also switched to cheerfully address Riyo. “Senator, we can arrange for a special pass outside of the District, provided you agree to return by 1400 and accept an escort.”

“ _Thank you_ , Commander Thire,” she said sincerely. “I wouldn’t even ask if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

“We know, ma’am,” Thire said. His tone with the senator was markedly soothing, but Fox sensed troubled coming. “Fox will be accompanying you.”

Riyo Chuchi’s smile hit Fox like a flash-bang grenade and left him blinking. But the sound of Thire chortling over the comlink brought him back to the present. He doubled checked that he was on their isolated channel. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re playing at, you _wagyx—”_

Thire was still laughing. “Now, now, Commander. I’m just a simple Jango-boy and don’t speak any of those fancy Core languages. The personnel grid shows that you, in fact, _have_ an open schedule for the rest of the shift. Would you prefer to spend the next several hours conducting surprise inspections and catching up on clerical work instead of helping out the damsel in distress?”

“You’re being demoted,” Fox replied. Riyo’s gaze was darting between the two of them, clearly aware that they were having a private conversation. He sighed. Personally seeing to a senator’s safety was well within his purview, and Thire wasn’t _wrong._ There were worse things than following Riyo Chuchi around. “Ma’am—whenever you’re ready.”

* * *

After verifying that taking public transportation was _not_ a component of the observance at hand, Fox requisitioned a speeder. He offered to help load Riyo’s repulsorlift. She declined, and he was unsure if he should attach any significance to that.

He had flash training that covered both the generalities and the specifics of various forms of beliefs and religious conventions, but he had none himself. He knew where he came from, and why, and what he was supposed to do with his life. Weren’t those the Big Questions faith was supposed to help answer? The other big question— what comes next?— never concerned him. He knew a fair number of his brothers said their Remembrances in the Mandalorian fashion, and spoke _of marching on_ when the time came. Others, who had become close to their generals over the last year, had started to talk about the will of the Force and becoming _one with_. And there was a plethora of idiosyncratic notions and superstitions that had cropped up amongst individual clones or individual companies.

Fox had the Republic, the Chancellor, his brothers, and hopefully a swift decline in his future.

...if necessary, maybe one of those stupid demolition droids would infiltrate Galactic City again and put him out of his misery, if he hung around too long.

Still, he didn’t begrudge natborns their peculiarities, even if he didn’t fully understand. Then again, Riyo didn’t seem like she particularly understood either. He could see her reading and rereading the same two pages of instructions, and the furrow between her brows was the same one as when he had seen her do complex calculations during committee meetings.

She looked worried, and Fox felt that he should attempt to get a better handle on the situation— in case her concern was justified. “This address is a lower level than I expected,” he commented. “You probably should have asked for an escort with or without the lockdown.”

“It may not be Coco Town, but it’s not a bad neighborhood,” she replied. After a moment, she grinned. “No one is putting a bounty on my head.”

“If you keep staging rescue and recovery missions on enemy ships that might change,” he pointed out. 

“Ah, you read about that, did you?”

Read and heard. The official report on how the blockade around Pantora had ended left much to be desired, but the clone gossip network was stronger than ever. Fox’s brothers loved stories about pretty girls sticking it to the Seps, and all it took was a few brief words from the 501st’s commander to get the ball rolling. He had noticed an increase in both Togruta and Pantoran pinups in the intervening weeks. Not that he was paying too much attention. It wasn’t as though he had any. “It was very brave, ma’am. I can’t say I’d trust _any_ of the Trade Federation further than I could throw a Neimie, but at least you were able to uncover the administrator’s plot.”

She glanced at him, and something in her expression prickled his command instincts. He was suddenly sure that there was more to the story than either the reports or the gossip had detailed. Her voice when she spoke was deliberately light. “I almost wrecked the whole thing, early on. You’d think I’d have a better sabaac face after being on Coruscant for this long.” She sighed, and then turned to look at him more fully. “Sometimes I wish a helmet was a part of my uniform. Does it get stuffy?”

Fox tapped his bucket. “Climate controlled.” She laughed and Fox felt like he had accomplished his mission. “May I ask for a rundown on our activities today?”

The worry had abated and was replaced with professional focus. She gave him as clear cut of a sitrep as was possible. It was a day that most (but not all) Pantora observed that coincided with an eclipse-like event that was visible to most (but not all) of the moon. High-ranking clanswomen carried out ceremonial gestures that corresponded to key religious concepts that were common to most (but not all) Goddess-worshippers. For off-moon communities, usually only _one_ clanswoman—whoever held the highest hereditary rank on the planet—carried out the tradition in behalf of the whole community.

“And, unfortunately, this time it’s me,” Riyo concluded.

“Unfortunately?”

“Unfortunately,” she confirmed. “Because I am from an area where we _don’t_ see the eclipse and _don’t_ observe the Rites of the Phases, but thousands of my people are counting on me to carry out something that is very important to them. But, I know my Tenants. _And_ —” she held up her datapad—“I can read.”

There wasn’t much time for her to continue reading before Fox arrived at the first address on the itinerary. Their stop was a residence that Riyo explained was home to a clutch of priestesses and their spouses; Coruscant rents and zoning made it a more practical option than an official temple. It was a modest place, all clean lines besides the lengths of the same dark fabric Riyo’s cloak was made of draped across the walls. A large idol, stone and gold, of the Goddess occupied a central location and was surrounded by blooming plants.

There were a number of other Pantorans already present. They seemed to all have their own business to attend to, but most took a moment to address Riyo with murmurs that might have been greetings, or maybe incantations. She acknowledged them with silent nods and a few tight smiles. Fox was spared a few words, as well, though most simply watched him curiously. He spotted their emergency exits (too few), evaluated the others present (too many for the space), and formulated a crisis response plan if the need arose (messier than he would like.)

He followed Riyo into a small side room where they were greeted by a priestess. Her primary source of interest seemed to be the repulsor luggage, which Riyo handed over. Before exiting, the priestess looked at Fox and spoke more rapid-fire Pantora. Riyo replied more sedately, and the priestess walked out with a nod.

“She’ll be back in a minute,” Riyo said. She went over to a small, low couch and gestured for Fox to sit with her. “Since you’re accompanying me today, she wants to paint clan marks on you.”

“I don’t have a clan,” Fox pointed out. The couch was soft and deep, but uncomfortably low as Fox stayed perched on the very edge of the seat.

“Traditionally, she would give you the marks of the Goddess,” Riyo said. “But you could also take mine. But only if you’re comfortable doing so— I’ll decline for you, if you prefer.”

Fox was still comparing regulations— he thought this might fall under the proviso for ‘adjustments made to uniform in view of culturally sensitive diplomatic missions,’ though that usually applied to the greys— when the priestess returned. She handed the case back to Riyo, and even through his helmet’s filtration system Fox could smell the crisp incense now clinging to the items. More quick Pantoran, and the priestess unclasped a small case from the sash she wore. It held brushes and what Fox thought might have been paint. She made quick work of adding more black marks to Riyo’s forehead and chin before turning to Fox, paintbrush held aloft.

“It’s up to you,” Riyo reiterated. 

“It’s fine, ma’am,” he said. He hesitated to agree to the markings of a deity that probably didn’t exist and—if she did—certainly didn’t care about him. “Yours, ma’am, if that’s acceptable.”

She smiled widely and nodded. After a moment, the smile became more playful. “You need to take off the helmet, Fox.”

“Oh. Right.” He was glad this had been his first shift of the day and still looked properly shaved and groomed, even if his hair was already a little matted down. The priestess gave him a considered look, and he noticed out of the tail of his eye that Riyo was looking at him, as well. The priestess was just quick with her brush and Fox could feel the quick flick of the double arches painted on each cheek.

“They suit you,” Riyo said. She sounded... pleased? Fox reached up to touch the markings, but the priestess flicked his hand away with a sharp word. “It needs a few minutes to dry,” Riyo explained.

The priestess made another comment to Riyo. Riyo made a brief reply, with a glance in Fox’s direction, and stood. She made a slow, formal gesture towards the priestess with both hands, and the priestess replied in kind before escorting them back out.

With his helmet attached to his utility belt, Fox received even more looks and greetings from the other Pantorans. He knew that this was just the first of several stops. He hoped the paint on his face would dry soon, so he could put his bucket back on.

* * *

The day was going better than Riyo had anticipated. She had been prepared to face her tasks alone. She had taken Chi Eekway’s list of places and times and refined it into a step-by-step progression, with contingencies built in.

Fox had called it ‘a proper op,’ and that had pleased her to an absurd degree.

Their first stop after having the priestess bless the gifts of mercy was to visit a newly married couple. Riyo took a moment to arrange the first of the gifts, a large blanket woven of Pantoran silk and boggoat wool. It smelled of the sharpetal incense now, and she knew the priestess had presented the offering to the Goddess, along with prayers for the protection and fertility of those who would sleep beneath it. It was the sort of marriage gift Pantoran couples had been receiving for hundreds of years, something that might have been the difference between life and death in earlier ages. The wool would keep a body warm even in the depths of a frigid winter; the silk meant the blanket could be folded compactly enough to not be a burden on any journey. It was, Riyo acknowledged, a fitting symbol of the First Tenant, or in this case, the Waxing Phase. It was as sure a sign of _home_ as anything could be.

The couple had invited as many of their friends as could fit in their city apartment, and Riyo felt more at ease. There were no special words for her to say, or actions to take, beyond offering her sincere well wishes.

“Forgive me, Senator,” one of the guests cut in as the couple offered plates of the traditional sweets that corresponded to the Waxing. He was a spare, youngish man with lower clan markings. “I had heard that Chairman Papanoida’s daughter was to be on Coruscant for the Rite?”

It was as polite of an expression of disappointment as could be hoped for. “Emergency clan business recalled them to Pantora,” Riyo said. “I know I am a bit of a poor substitute.”

The couple themselves were quick to assure Riyo of their pleasure that she was visiting them, and their belief that the Rite was in good hands. Like Chi Eekway had said, it was the perfect holo op. The couple beamed with their new blanket, while Riyo tried for suitably serene-looking.

As they returned to the speeder, Fox leaned down a little. She had persuaded him to keep his helmet off, perhaps overstating the cultural importance of her fellow Pantorans being able to see his temporary markings. _His_ sabaac face was solid, considering the fact he usually had a physical barrier between his expressions and the rest of the world, but she had still felt his sharp eyes taking in every detail. “I didn’t think your itinerary had been… publicized.”

“It wasn’t, as such,” Riyo assured him. “I think some of it was public through the Chairman’s Office—and of course, the participants all know.”

“And were vetted?”

She paused and could not offer him a firm answer. “Trust me, Fox. No one on Pantora is going to bother taking out a Chuchi senator.”

Fox’s eyebrows became wonderfully expressive. They seemed to communicate both disbelief and a desire for more information with a mere quirk.

“As far as High Clans go, mine is more, ah, middling,” she explained. He blinked, and she continued. “And I’m sure you’ve noticed that most of Pantora’s senators have been young women. It’s intentional. _Nonthreatening._ ”

“Huh,” was his only comment.

“We’re a small moon. Most of the galaxy sees young females as needing protection. Even when we, as a people, must take a firm stand and protect ourselves, it’s good for the Senate to remember that there is little we can accomplish on our own. So while we do our grunt work here on Coruscant, on Pantora being a senator is not considered an especially glamorous position.”

“It is possible,” Fox said slowly, as the speeder once again melted into the busy skylanes, “that, if that is truly the Pantoran political model, your people got more than they bargained for with you.”

His comment brought Riyo up short, and she was at once grateful for his bare face. She had thought for a moment that he was slipping into sarcasm, but that did not appear to be the case. He was smiling, a small, crooked thing that only lifted one corner of his mouth but still made his eyes twinkle. She was suddenly _doubly_ glad his helmet was off. She knew he had heat sensors in that thing, and she was blushing the like a schoolgirl.

“The Second Tenant is health,” she said suddenly, and if Fox was thrown by the sudden change in topic, he did not show it. “And the gift I have for that is all of that preserved food—they’re all tasty, but kind of folk-cureish things. If there’s a Pantoran grandmother who _doesn’t_ think zingibera preserves stirred into tea is the cure for everything, I certainly haven’t met her.”

“And this is the Full Phase,” he connected.

“Yes. Because it’s not just physical health,” Riyo tried to consolidate everything she had read recently about how the Tenants correlated in the Rite. “It’s prosperity, and harvest, and the peace of mind that comes with plenty.”

“All provided by the Goddess,” he finished.

Riyo shrugged. “Let me drag a dozen theologians in front of you and you’ll hear a dozen different answers, won’t you? What I grew up hearing was that the _clans_ were the gift of the Goddess. They see to our homes, health, history—what have you. The Tenants are how we live and function within the clan. It’s just the daily responsibilities we all bear, and there aren’t any special observances to mark them.” She didn’t add that some times the responsibilities were earlier to bear than others.

The gathering at the next home was larger, with many families in attendance. At one point, Riyo saw two of the young girls approach Fox. He looked baffled, but after a long moment crouched down to eye level and spoke with them. Her curiosity was piqued, but before she could go over to join the conversation, an elder was pushing a cup of zingibera tea into her hands to help combat ‘the bad city air.’

When she asked about the girls later, Fox looked embarrassed. “They wanted to know, uh, if I was joining your clan.”

Riyo thought of this for a moment and then laughed. “Living in the Core, they’ve probably only ever seen temporary markings on betrotheds. What did you tell them?”

“That I was there to protect and help you, and that I wore the markings to be respectful to your culture.” Riyo didn’t mention that those reasons _still_ sounded like the Words of Betrothal. “Is it a bad thing to not have clan marks? Being that they’re a gift of the Goddess and what-not.”

Why did he make her want to laugh? She had noticed Fox’s casual inquisitiveness from the early days of their acquaintance, and had mistaken it for interrogation. His manner was meant to make him seem professional. But as the months wore on, and they continued to encounter one another, she started to suspect that he simply liked to _know._ And so she shared. “Not as such. If you saw a Pantoran with scars where their marks had been, then, yes, that is bad. It would indicate that they had committed a truly grave offense that warranted the clan expelling them. But there are others who decide to either decline them when they come of age, or remove them later. Priestesses and priests, mostly, though it isn’t required for them to give up their clan. The first Chairman of Pantora famously rejected his markings so that he could represent all fairly. I had a professor who had his removed. It is… noticeable. It marks you as someone who is either willing to live utterly independently, or someone who has found a calling so much more important than your blood that you are willing to devote all to it. Your average Pantoran wouldn’t be sure if that would be a cause for admiration or fear, but there would be no shame in it.”

Fox was quiet. “Yes. I understand that.”

There was something in his voice, flat like he was trying _not_ to say something, that made Riyo’s inner diplomat come out. _Cultural exchange_. “I know some of the soliders have tattoos, even on their faces. Is there any special code that dictates them?”

“Oh, no. It’s just a way to carve out a little individuality when you spend most of your life next to an identical brother,” Fox half laughed. “But not all of us have the compulsion to do so.”

“There is a feeling of security in community,” Riyo offered.

“Yes,” Fox was slow to respond. “Troopers and units are raised to rely on one another. Working together can be the difference between victory and death. But some were trained more independently.”

“What about you?” It did not escape her notice that he contrasted _victory_ and death, rather than _life_ and death.

She really thought that he was not going to reply, but at length, he did. “I’m a clone commander who received later ARC training. I can work alone.” He did not permit any follow up questions to this statement, but instead routed the conversation back to the task at hand. “The name of the woman we are visiting is very familiar.”

Based on his tone, Riyo could only conclude that he was teasing her. “Yes, I imagine it is.”

“I seem to recall you running into a maintenance corridor just to avoid her.” _Definitely_ teasing.

“Yes, but today she _is_ on the schedule,” Riyo countered. “Fria Verdoda also the oldest Pantoran on Coruscant, and therefore, the giver of—”

“History,” he said. “The Waning Phase.”

* * *

There was nothing for Riyo give for this part of the Rite but her attention. Madam Verdoda was in her element even before Riyo and Fox made their appearance. Many sat cross-legged on the floor in a loose ring around the older woman, listening. There were a few familiar faces amongst this crowd. One of her own aides sat next to younger woman with lower-clan marks. The shopkeeper who imported sweets from home sat with his children. One of the interns in the Chairman’s employ kept looking askance at Fox. Given how far along Madam Verdoda was in _The Lay of Tora-tora_ , Riyo figured she had been holding court for more than an hour.

Riyo did not interrupt the rhythmic lines of the Creation story, and simply took her place on the floor closest to the elderly woman’s feet. Fox’s professional limits would not bend so far as to let him sit next to her. He stayed standing near the door of the apartment.

“All right, Clanswoman,” Madam Verdoda turned to Riyo once she finished her recital of the epic. “What is it that you want to hear?”

Riyo came prepared with the traditional response. “Whatever you want to tell me, Mother.”

“Very well,” Madam Verdoda’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Then listen to the story of the High Chief’s daughter who gave her heart to the Clanless Warrior.”

It was a perennial favorite, though Riyo would have been more inclined to classify it as ‘fairytale’ than ‘history.’ Still, no one could complain about the elder’s story-weaving abilities. The dignity of the Chief when he was imperiled by slavers, the hard bargain the Warrior demanded in exchange for getting the Chief to safety, the willingness of the Daughter to uphold her father’s word, and the respect she gave the Warrior that ultimately made him fall in love with her—they were all Pantoran virtues, in one way or another. When Madam Verdoda came to the end of the story, when the Warrior four times asked the Daughter why she would chose to stay with him, Riyo joined with all the children in repeating the familiar lines. _Together, we will build our home_ — _Together, we will keep our dependents in health_ — _Together, we will write our history—_ _Together, we will live in the light._

“And together,” Madam Verdoda concluded, “we will weather this war, as we always have before.”

There were murmurs around the room, mostly positive. But if there was one thing Pantorans loved more than their stories, it was a good debate.

It didn’t surprise Riyo in the slightest when the Chairman’s intern, Ari, piped up. “No one even knows why this war began. How are we supposed to chart a course through it?”

“Same as always,” another older woman said. “Let the bigger systems keep duking it out.”

“Sure, but it keeps coming to us—and why? It feels like we keep getting dragged into something that doesn’t involve us at all.”

A few looked to Riyo, who was more or less bereft of senatorial dignity on the floor with a plate of cookies. She, in turn, looked to Fox. His expression was utterly closed. “Being in the Republic is like being part of a clan,” she said slowly. “When there is trouble for one clan member, there is trouble for _all._ ”

The shopkeeper broke in, “you can’t tell me that, if anything happened Pantora, the Republic would really care. We’re too far from the Core."

“They’ve certainly been active in our system,” Madam Verdoda loved a good debate, Riyo knew, and was perfectly willing to play both sides of an argument. “That awful business on Alzoc III.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Ari said, “I’m sure that if something happened with the _Confederacy_ , they’d be all over it. But what happens if, say, the Karazak decide we’re worth targeting again?”

“It’s been half a dozen generations since a Pantoran has been taken into Karazaki slavery,” Riyo said, “a time that _happens_ to coincide with our induction into the Republic.”

“But most of our sector is controlled by the Hutts at this point,” another man with low-clan marking brought up. “And the Hutts have the Republic in their pocket. They wouldn’t defend us. And if it came to that, I’d rather deal with Count Dooku than Jabba of Nal Hutta.”

Fox wasn’t just still, Riyo thought. He had stopped being a man and was a _statue._

Thanks to the Goddess—maybe she really did care about the Rite of the Phases and was happy that Riyo was participating—Madam Verdoda did not decide to play devil’s advocate. “We are stronger together,” she reiterated. “And we have a shared history with the Republic that does _not_ include a bunch of upstart Separatists. So perhaps that is the history we need to remember today. I will tell you the _Song of the Green Sword_ , and how we came to trust the Republic, and they us.”

Riyo caught Fox’s eye before settling back down to listen to the elder speak. For all of her training and experience in politics, she found his expression unreadable.

* * *

It was 1300 before they were able to leave Fria Verdoda’s home. Fox sent a ping to Thire that they were still more or less on schedule. Riyo was staring at him.

“I take it that a number of Madam Verdoda's guests are now going to be under, ah, scrutiny.”

“Yes,” Fox said simply.

“Freedom of speech—and thought—are _also_ protected rights under the Republic,” she murmured.

“We’re at war,” Fox replied. Did he _personally_ believe a handful of Pantorans chatting politics were a danger to the Republic? Probably not. He was, technically, supposed to _protect_ the Republic and its liberties. He mostly found himself confused by them. “What did Ari Qino say to you on the way out?” Riyo gave him a wry look. “Listen, I’m not trying make trouble for anyone. I’m not going to hound a few concerned citizens. But he seemed pretty focused on whatever he was saying to you.”

Riyo waved his concern away. “He just wanted to know if I would consider doing the New Moon rite there with the group. But I thought it best to stick to the Papanoidas’ original plan. This part of the Rite is usually done more or less privately, and it can be anywhere. But they had calculated the closest corresponding point on Coruscant to a holy site on Pantora and thought it would be a nice touch.”

When they arrived at their last address of the day, ‘nice touch’ was not a phrase Fox would have used. They were just outside of the Works, and nothing about the location sat well with Fox—not the level, the neighborhood, or the building itself.

“ _How_ did Chi Eekway come across this place again?” Fox asked. The hangar was small and utterly deserted.

Riyo looked just as skeptical. “The Office of the Chairman did the research. We’ll make this quick, hm?” She exited her side of the speeder and went to the back for her last ceremonial offering. She had said it was basically a large piece of rock native to Pantora that, under the right conditions, was bioluminescent. It was supposed to serve as the reminder that Fourth Tenant still held true during the Phase of the New Moon—the light that always followed darkness.

They walked out of the hangar and into a small antechamber. Riyo checked her datapad. “Chi Eekway said she had had the room prepared. It should just be through that door and down the hall a bit.”

“I’m starting to think we should return to the Senate District sooner rather than later,” Fox said. Riyo gave him an amused look.

“You’ll get no complaints from me.” It was not far to their destination, and the room opened to Riyo’s keycode. It had been prepared, and Fox wasn’t sure if he found that comforting or not. Pots of Pantoran plants brought life to the room, and a statue of the Goddess stood before the one window. It looked like someone had done their best to clean the grime away from the inside of the transparisteel, but there wasn’t any way to improve the exterior side.

Riyo at first tried to set the stone down in front of the Goddess, but its shape made it unsteady. She picked it up again, trying to open a tube of gel with one hand. She succeeded in getting a little of the substance on and tried resting her fingertips on the stone.

“It’s not responding.” She vented an annoyed sigh. “I’m supposed to be thinking all these spiritual and positive thoughts, and the kriffing thing—” she held it out to Fox. He took it gingerly. “Can you just hold this, please? I’m going to try to get more of the biogel on…”

Fox complied, and held it steady as Riyo once more put her hands on it. Slowly, a cool glow started radiating from where her hands were touching to illuminate the whole stone. It was one of the curious beauties of the universe, Fox thought, glowing blue and gold, just like the senator. There was also something terribly _wrong_ about it.

Fox felt the device come to life before he heard it, and he _knew_ what it was before he felt it. With equal parts care and haste, he set the glowing stone down and before Riyo could utter so much as a sound of inquiry, he took her hand and had her running. They cleared a good distance—almost, _almost_ out to the hangar.

When the explosion came, Fox’s training coalesced. He did not think. He covered the senator and the world went down.

* * *

It was quiet, after that one piercing minute of light, heat, and noise. Riyo kept her eyes closed as she made a slow check for injury and debris on her face. Besides the soreness that came from essentially being body slammed by a man who had twenty-five kilos on her _before_ the armor, she was fine. Fox was no longer directly on top of her, but had rolled off, groaning. The comlink on his gauntlet was beeping furiously.

Riyo pushed herself to her knees and settled closer to Fox. “Commander? Fox? Fox, are you all right?” There was a track of red blood making its way down his temple, joining a smaller trickle that that stemmed from his left ear. Riyo was infuriated with herself— why had she asked him to keep his helmet off? Still, he started coming around. He tried to sit up, but Riyo kept her hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?” He asked, and when Riyo replied in the affirmative, he tilted his head. “I can’t hear great.” He seemed to notice his comlink, and hit it. “Fox here.”

“ _Fox, what the hell?_ ”

“You’re on open line, Thire.” Fox grunted.

“ _I know! Your bucket’s off. What the hell?_ ” Thire’s voice sounded tinny and distorted through the little projector, and he did not wait for a response from Fox. “ _We registered an_ ori’so’sik _ton of activity in your location._ ”

Fox rolled his eyes in a way that Riyo would have found hilarious— if not for the blood and general haziness of his expression. He fumbled to unclip his helmet from his utility belt, and Riyo winced as he eased it on. She scrambled to her feet as he stood, and did manage to steady him when he started to sway. She could tell that he was engrossed in a conversation in his helmet, swiveling to look around, and she suspected directing sensors at the wreckage. The door that would have led out to the hangar was locked shut. It had probably been a short circuit caused by the explosion, and would not be overridden for anything. On the other side, the whole wall had crumbled and completely blocked them in. Riyo could see the crackle of old-style containment fields flickering on and off. There was more silent conversation as Fox poked at the rubble. He was starting to look unsteady again, and startled when Riyo appeared at his side. After a moment, his wristcom came to life again.

“ _Commander— sit down._ ” 

“I’m finishing my scans,” Fox shot back. There was something wrong about his voice, like he had his teeth gritted.

“ _The scans are fine, sir._ ” the trooper on the com said. It wasn’t Thire, Riyo could tell, though she questioned how she could be so sure of that. The voice was the same voice, and the annoyed inflection was similar, but there was something more direct about how he addressed Fox. She could almost believe it was a superior officer, if it wasn’t for the way he tacked on Fox’s titles. “ _Your_ internal _scans, however, are not._ ”

“Come on, Fox,” Riyo curled her hands around his elbow. His helmet swiveled down and seemed fixed on her hands. She tugged him over to the side wall of the little chamber, and he half slid down to sit. She hesitated to intrude on Fox’s professional sphere, but needs must. “Excuse me? Trooper? Can you give me an update on the situation?”

There was a pause. “ _Medic, ma’am. The commander indicated that you were unhurt. Is that true?_ ”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Any idea what’s going on? Is Fox okay?”

Another pause. “ _There’s no immediate danger, ma’am. The area is deserted and we’ll be there to extract you soon. It’ll take a little time to make sure the area is cleared of other devices._ ”

“I don't know if we brought the device or the trigger with us, but I'm pretty sure it's gone now. What about Fox?” Riyo pressed. “What can I do for him?”

Fox made a sound of protest, but the medic hummed and sounded relieved. “ _I’m monitoring his vitals, and… uh, yes._ _Commander? Commander, I want you to take a stero-stim sharp.”_

“Oh, fierfek,” Fox groaned. “Those things always—”

“ _I_ know _how they make you feel,_ ” the medic said drily. “ _Take it anyway or risk decom by way of_ mir’shupur _. Your choice, Commander_.”

Riyo wasn’t sure how much she should or could offer to help. Fox unlatched a tiny medkit on his tactical belt with his left hand. He struggled to pull something out of it, cursed, dropped it, and finally held up a single-use sharp no longer than Riyo’s thumb. Fox was still grumbling when the medic spoke again.

“ _Okay, now. Senator? Would you be willing to take that from Commander Fox?”_

“Of course,” Riyo held out her hand. Fox stared at her hand for a moment, then at the sharp, back and forth until Riyo reached forward and took it from him.

“ _Senator,_ _does it have a blue cap?”_ Riyo confirmed that it did. “ _Great. Fox, sir? Can you get your thigh plate off?_ ”

“What?” Fox asked.

“ _Never mind. Senator. Let’s get that bucket off again, and then you’re going to pop the cap and give the Commander a good jab in the jugular._ ” He paused. “ _It’s, er, the side—”_

“The same place on humans as it is on Pantorans,” Riyo said cut in.

“ _Right. Good. Doesn’t need to be exact; just get it his neck and the sharp will do the rest.”_

Riyo sent up a silent invocation to the Goddess—though she couldn’t help it if a few invectives on the way the day turned out slipped in as well—before carefully unsealing his helmet and setting it down. She took another moment to steady her hands and then jabbed the needle into Fox. If he felt any discomfort, he did not show it. He barely reacted at all, but after a few long moments, his shoulders started to relax.

“ _Good,_ ” said the medic. “ _Internal systems show that the stero-stim’s doing what it should do. We’re going to need to turn off the comm in a minute here, but we’re on our way. Senator, please keep him responsive.”_ He paused. _“If you don’t mind?”_

“Of course,” Riyo said again. “What do you say, Fox? Up to swapping some stories?”

Fox was still staring at her as if she was a hither-to undiscovered lifeform.

“ _Give it another minute or two,”_ the medic said and then chuckled through the static. “ _Those blue caps can make us down right_ chatty _if properly motivated._ ”

Fox finally found his voice. He stared at the comlink. “Oh, kark you, Kalik.” He sounded surprisingly good-humored.

The medic laughed again, and the line went dead.

* * *

“Cold and wet,” Fox said. “Cold and dry. _Loud._ ”

Whatever Riyo had been expecting when she asked Fox about his childhood, it had not been him counting off a few spare adjectives on his fingers. The medic had been right: Fox’s tongue had loosened considerably after a few minutes. He had ranted at length about her security. Apparently, the initial analysis suggested that the Papanoidas had been given questionable intel on where to go for the final rite, and when Riyo had inherited their itinerary, she had also inherited their security threats and leaks. Someone wanted to make (another) statement with the Baron's daughters, and once again, Riyo had interfered. Fox exhausted this topic, with many aside, and then started slowing down. His eyes were often abstracted, and he would lapse into long silences if left unprompted. Riyo had stopped trying to entertain him with her own stories, and now focused on keeping him talking.

“Why was it so cold?” she asked.

“Karking ka- _kaminii_ —” he grumbled in frustration. “Kaminoans. Kaminoans. Great manufacturers, but it took them awhile to optimize how they handled the product.” It took Riyo a moment to realize what he was talking about, that _he_ was a product that the cloners didn’t know how to handle properly. “Things like— they didn’t realize that the brains of human infants needed so much physical contact to develop properly. They had artificial environments that did okay, and o’course, each consecutive batch had a _few more_ tweaks to make us hardier, but humans are tricky.”

Riyo wasn’t human, and she wasn’t an expert on children of any species. But she did not like what his words implied. She knew as much about the clones as any senator. She read the classified reports on the creation and maintenance of the clone army, and had always allowed herself to believe that the redacted sections contained nothing worse than what she and so many others already knew. She could no longer pretend so much ignorance.

But this was not the right forum to give vent to her dismay. If she knew Fox at all—and she thought she might, just a little—he would be more worried to hear of the quietly growing dissent in the Senate surrounding the war, not relieved that there were people paying attention.

Fox shifted a little and winced when his head bumped against the wall. Earlier on, he had not allowed her to take off her cloak and give it to him. This time, he made no comment and she smooshed part of it into a pillow and let the rest fall around his shoulders. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, she thought, as his eyes threatened to flutter closed.

“Kaminii,” she repeated quickly, and he cracked open an eye. “Is that what they call themselves?”

“Er,” he grimaced. “No. Just something some of the old trainers called them.”

“Like… a nickname?”

“No, it’s the word for Kaminoans in Mandalorian. You know we’re all cloned from a Mandalorian, right?” He didn’t pause for her to respond, but at least he kept talking. “Some of the older batches were taught to speak Mandalorian. It trickled down.” 

“I always got the impression that you were one of the oldest,” she said. It was a curious thing to think of at this moment. Seeing him so frequently without his helmet today drove home how terribly young he was. Oh, his expression could be flint-hard, as unyielding as the armor he wore over it, and she could see where the lines would one day settle on his forehead and around his mouth. But... they weren’t actually there yet.

“Oh, I’m up there,” he said, as if this was a point of pride. “But there were a few hundred decanted before us commanders. RCs and Alphas. _Nulls._ ” He shuddered, and she wasn’t sure if it was pain or the cold that prompted it. His eyes became suddenly sharp. “If you look at it from a psychological perspective, it makes sense. Most of the commandos—advanced recon and otherwise—are Mandalorian trained. The Alphas were all Jango. They were the best of the best, and for the most part, they could speak Mandalorian.”

“Aspirational, then?” Riyo asked. She may not have been able to explain the difference between ‘advanced’ and ‘alpha’ in this context, but she could read his tone.

He nodded and winced with the action. “They trained separately. Lived separately. But there was always enough cross over that your run of the mill CT would start calling his batch-brothers _vod,_ like the commandos did.” He shrugged. “Argue for a bit of nature over nurture, and that a warrior culture is a natural fit for made-to-order soldiers…” he quirked a vague, lopsided smile and then his voice turned unnervingly severe. “ _Kandosii sa ka’rta, vode an._ ”

“What does that mean?”

“A—” he cut himself off and scrubbed at his face. “Karking translation. Some kind of heart. Awesome? Ruthless? No, sorry. _An indomitable heart, brothers all._ ”

“Do ‘awesome’ and ‘ruthless’ really sound that much alike in Mandalorian?”

“Same basic word,” he said. He glanced at her, and gave a half-laugh to match his half smile. “What? Haven’t you ever _met_ a Mandalorian before?”

Riyo’s previous knowledge of Mandalorians were Senate briefs on a very fractured world that half-claimed pacifism. She smiled. “Only you, apparently.”

He really laughed at that, and it worried Riyo. There was no mirth in it, and after a moment it seemed more like physiological reaction to stress and shock than any kind of enjoyment. She ran her hand against his vambrace in what was meant to be a soothing motion. She wasn’t sure how well he could feel it through his armor, but he did freeze. When he spoke, it was deliberate and slow, as if he was trying to marshal his thoughts and actions. “CCs—like me—worked with a variety of trainers, to ensure that we could be adaptable to a changing command chain. A lot of command-cadet squads _did_ have Mando sergeants, but not all.”

“What about yours?” she prompted, when he lapsed into another long silence. She thought she was going to need to start resorting to stronger tactics to keep him awake and alert, but he did eventually reply.

“Corellian,” he said, grudgingly. “And you better believe no one _here_ lets me forget it. They’re all— _mandokarla-mando’ade_ -whatever- _osik._ ” He took a deep breath and then exhaled, closing his eyes. “ _M’brothers_ are all back on Kamino. They protect the cadets.”

Riyo tried to rub his arm again, but when that didn’t garner a reaction, she reached out and smoothed his hair. Blood was starting to crust in it. His eyes opened, and looked up to track her hand.

“I guess as a politician, I should know better than to make light of cultural stereotypes,” she said, suddenly fascinated by the smudges of dark red now on her hand, “but as a Mandalorian-bred, Corellian-trained clone commander… I’d like to know what your _official_ opinion is on long odds?”

He gave her a long-suffering look that transformed suddenly when the comm once again picked up trooper chatter. The groan of anti-grav tractor shifting rubble brought back the crooked smile. “See, here’s the thing, Riyo,” he said, and she straightened at the unexpected use of her name. “The odds really _don’t_ matter when you have your _vod'e_.”

* * *

Fox felt like he had been hit by a couple metric tons of debris. That wasn’t too far from the truth, and it was probably the worst concussion he had ever suffered. Thankfully, a flush of bacta injected into his cerebrospinal fluid had taken him almost immediately out of danger. He had been discharged from Kalik’s care with strict orders to rest (‘ _In your bunk. Actually lying down. No datapads._ Sleeping _.’_ ) and a double-dose sharp of painkiller sedatives to self-administer.

He had every intention of obeying the medic’s instructions.

…However.

He had mentally replayed the first part of the day as a way to distract himself from the white-hot pain of the spinal injection, and the only slightly less painful reduction of what turned out to be a dislocated shoulder. It had been… nice?

He had felt a little silly running around on the whims of an alien goddess, yes, and then it had turned into a right mess. The bombing, as far as these things went, was relatively minor. Thire had briefed him _just_ enough and promised that Fox would be satisfied with the conclusion of the investigation. He trusted Thire, in spite of his general jackassery, and allowed himself to put that specific event out of his mind.

But _nice_ moments were few and far between in Fox’s life, and he let himself enjoy the memory of Riyo’s laugh, of her brow furrowed in concentration, of her fingers in his hair—

—and that was the part of the day that was _troubling._

He could only remember fragments of their conversation. His memory would usually be considered eidetic, as close to perfect as possible without absolute complete recall. But between the injury and the meds, there were decided gaps in the afternoon’s activities and he did not like that. He waved away the trooper who had half-helped, half-escorted him to his quarters. The medcenter had made sure that his armor had been delivered there in good order. It sat, in neat regulation stacks, on his tiny desk. He grabbed his helmet before stumbling over to the bed and all but collapsing. He took a moment to catch his breath before slipping it on. He accessed the helmet’s closed circuitry, and pulled up the audio/video feed from the time Riyo had first made him sit down to when the troopers finally arrived to extract them. After a while, he shut off the visuals. The angle at which she had set down his helmet had recorded several fascinating views of her bosom, and little else. Instead, he focused on their conversation, picking it apart for possible security breaches.

In the end, he had to concede that there was nothing _technically_ wrong with what he had revealed. Riyo—Senator Chuchi, he reminded himself, utterly mortified by the offhanded way he had used her name during their rescue— had brought up something natborns usually thought of as innocuous. Who didn’t have a childhood?

Fox took his helmet off and set it down on the floor next to his bunk. Well, Riyo Chuchi now knew more about clone culture than just about any other civilian on the planet. And Fox was just going to need to trust her with that information.

He jabbed his leg with the painkillers and passed out.


End file.
